Our lives ... are but a little while, so let them run as sweetly as you can, and give no thought to grief from day to day. For time is not concerned to keep our hopes, but hurries on its business, and is gone.
Worlds on worlds are rolling ever From creation to decay, Like the bubbles on a river Sparkling, bursting, borne away.
Ambition is a meteor-gleam; Fame a restless airy dream; Pleasures, insects on the wing Round Peace, th' tend rest flow'r of spring.
Because we cannot accept the truth of transience, we suffer.
Without accepting the fact that everything changes, we cannot find perfect composure. But unfortunately, although it is true, it is difficult for us to accept it. Because we cannot accept the truth of transience, we suffer.
A ruin is not just something that happened long ago to someone else; its history is that of us all, the transience of power, of ideas, of all human endeavors.
In my old age, I have come to believe that love is not a noun but a verb. An action. Like water, it flows to its own current. If you were to corner it in a dam, true love is so bountiful it would flow over. Even in separation, even in death, it moves and changes. It lives within memory, in the haunting of a touch, the transience of a smell, or the nuance of a sigh. It seeks to leave a trace like a fossil in the sand, a leaf burning into baking asphalt.
Listen, all creeping things, the bell of transience.
Joy and sorrow, beauty and deformity, equally pass away.
Cities and Thrones and Powers Stand in Time's eye, Almost as long as flowers, Which daily die
Friendships offer good practice in accepting the transience of experience and the persistence of feeling.
Impermanence is a principle of harmony. When we don't struggle against it, we are in harmony with reality.
Anyone who has lost something they thought was theirs forever finally comes to realise that nothing really belongs to them.
I like the transience of Klimt paintings.
Surely the glory of journalism is its transience.
Every great work of art ... is a celebration, an act of insubordination against the betrayals, horrors and infidelities of life.
We are not sure of sorrow, And joy was never sure; Today will die tomorrow; Time stoops to no man's lure.
Poems allow us not only to bear the tally and toll of our transience, but to perceive, within their continually surprising abundance, a path through the grief of that insult into joy.
But life is just a party, and parties weren't meant to last.
The likeness of the world? A shadow! And world's glory? A dream!
As generations come and go, Their arts, their customs, ebb and flow; Fate, fortune, sweep strong powers away, And feeble, of themselves, decay.
We are things of a day. What are we? What are we not? The shadow of a dream is man, no more.
So passeth, in the passing of a day, Of mortall life the leafe, the bud, the flowre
When we are fully mindful of the transience of things - an impending return home from an overseas adventure, a graduation, our child boarding the school bus for the first day of kindergarten, a close colleague changing jobs, a move to a new city - we are more likely to appreciate [be grateful for] and savor the remaining time that we do have. Although bittersweet experiences also make us sad, it is this sadness that prompts us, instead of taking it for granted, to come to appreciate the positive aspects of our vacation, colleague, or hometown; it's 'now or never.'
civilization is a transient sickness.
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